Read Online Diary of a Mad Diva by Joan Rivers - Free Book Online Page B

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    Dear Diary:
    I was watching some TV news magazine tonight and they did a story on prostitution that infuriated me. They were against it. In today’s tough economic climate, I find that unconscionable. Why would some self-righteous, Manolo-wearing “journalist” begrudge a gal for trying to pay the rent by giving hummers to tire salesmen in an alley behind a Dumpster? (1) Who’s she bothering? (2) In kneepads and mouthwash alone, she’s putting plenty of money back in the economy. (3) There are a lot of tire salesmen who won’t be so stressed out that they ruin their lives by turning to drink.
    The report said prostitutes were nothing more than sad, lonely women who had bad sex with unattractive bald men in exchange for money, jewelry or rent. They sound exactly like housewives to me, except they don’t have to take care of his pasty, fat children from his first marriage to the woman who supported him when he went to college.
    MAY 7
    Dear Diary:
    I saw the Broadway show Annie tonight. It was cheerful, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s cheerful musicals. Bo-ring. Annie would have been a lot better if Miss Hannigan, the head of the orphanage, killed at least one of the ethnic kids, or Daddy Warbucks was brought up on child molestation charges.
    MAY 8
    Dear Diary:
    Flew back to L.A. to film episodes of Joan & Melissa: Joan Knows Best? I love having a reality show. I feel like one of the Kardashian girls except I don’t have a sex tape or back hair.
    Speaking of sex tapes . . . one of the story lines on JKB this season is that I made a parody sex tape with Ray J. The scene came out very funny and Ray J was great to work with—he’s really smart and very sweet. If Ray J and I ever really made a sex tape, we decided the possible names could be:
Dry Hard
On Golden Shower
I Am Curious (Brown)
Last Bingo in Paris
Pile-Driving Miss Daisy
Brown & Out in Beverly Hills
or
To Drill a Mockingbird
    MAY 9
    Dear Diary:
    Had a moment in the supermarket today. I told Melissa I’d pick up dinner tonight, so on my way home from the studio I stopped in at Ralphs to buy some food. As I’m checking out, the cashier says, “Paper or plastic? And remember, due to L.A. laws, next year there will be no more plastic bags and paper bags will be twenty-five cents apiece.” She said it’s because they’re trying to conserve trees. Bullshit. Someone’s making a profit. If you really want to conserve trees, make us all become Muslims and, instead of using toilet paper, we’ll wipe our asses with our left hands.
    I went nuts. I held up the entire checkout line and demanded to speak to Ralph. “What do you mean we have to pay for the bag? If we refuse, how are we supposed to get all the food home? Eat it right here on the counter, like Mama Cass did?” A supermarket not having shopping bags is like a restaurant not having plates. What do they do, just have the chef throw the food in your mouth? It’s like the proctologist who makes you pay extra to have the hose pulled out of your ass. Some things should just be free, like shopping bags in the supermarket or VD tests after a date with John Mayer.
    MAY 10
    Dear Diary:
    I’ve had it with Facebook. I woke up this morning and I had sixty-three “pokes.” I may not have much feeling down there anymore, but if I’m poked sixty-three times I’m pretty sure I’d notice either a tickle, a trickle or some mild chafing.
    I’m tired of having my computer clogged up with messages from idiots with nothing to say. “Norma is at the Laundromat fluffing her whites.” “Jesse B. likes Denny’s blueberry waffles.” “Tim is at the Coffee Bean with Aaron and he’s having an espresso.” The only way I’d care if Tim was at the Coffee Bean would be if he was there with a locked and loaded AK-47 and was having an episode. If Tim opened fire on the bunch of pretentious assholes who were sipping their Double Venti Chai Green Teas, then, and only then, would it be worth my time to read